Tradition’s a funny thing. Sometimes you understand it. Sometimes you don’t. Sometimes you do it just because it feels right. And other times you do it because you feel the tug of obligation. Whatever the reason, traditions come from somewhere and, in this instance, asking for your father-in-law’s permission (or blessing these days) to get married has a dark origin story.
Pardon the mansplaining but indulge me for a moment...So the tradition of asking your father-in-law for his permission to marry his daughter dates back to ancient Rome where suitors would give the father of the bride-to-be a symbolic coin (after a day of tailgating at the Circus Maximus, of course). By accepting the coin, the father-in-law gave the groom his permission to marry his daughter. The obvious sexism of this whole affair aside, over the last fifty years this tradition has evolved into one which seeks the father-in-law’s “blessing” instead of his permission because, well, equal rights obviously.
For me, it was never really a question as to whether I was going to ask my wife’s parents for her hand in marriage or even how; rather, it was always a question of why I would even bother doing so in the first place. I had been raised not necessarily to revere tradition, but to call upon it when it seemed appropriate, convenient, or that thing you do just because you saw your parents do it (think eating bone-dry turkey on Thanksgiving, paying for a landline in a cellular world, or stringing garlands of stale popcorn on a Christmas tree for whatever reason).
When it came time for me to come up with the masterful Mission Impossible plan to ask my now wife to marry me (spoiler alert: it couldn’t have been that bad because she said “hell yes,” but that’s a blog post for another time), I had a choice to make: would I indulge an archaic ritual or chart a more progressive path? Frankly, that’s a choice to seriously consider and there’s really no wrong answer. In fact, I would go so far as to recommend asking your partner if he/she would appreciate such a gesture—and yes, the modern tradition of respectfully asking for a parent’s blessing in marriage can apply to all types/varieties of marriage. Well, my wife thought it’d be very sweet if I sought her father’s blessing. So let me explain how it all went down...
Venice Beach, CA was only a short flight from Denver but the sheer volume of luggage we brought might have made you think otherwise. We arrived at my wife’s brother’s flat ready to walk along the beach, enjoy the perfect 70-degree weather, and engorge ourselves on double-double animal-style In-N-Out burgers (a coded message for a heart attack, perhaps?).
My wife entered the door first to the fanfare of family that hadn’t seen each other in a while. I followed behind with the luggage, my Sherpa duties slowing me down. Once inside, I said hello to everybody, doled out the necessary hugs and kisses, and began a relaxing weekend filled with sun and crippling anxiety of the conversation to come.
The perfect moment to ask a parent’s permission is not one I could force; rather, I decided I would have to wait for exactly the right opportunity lest I get an answer I didn’t want: the dreaded, “I think it’s a little too soon,” or, heaven forbid, a flat “No.”
I waited the rest of the day and into the evening, hoping that my father-in-law would peel off from the herd and I could go in for the kill. Trouble is, the man hardly even went to the bathroom, let alone offered me enough time to have a one-on-one conversation. He’s harder to pin down than an MMA cage fighter. I even tried pulling up a chair next to him a few times—once on the patio and once in the kitchen—only to be interrupted by a phone call and a fly, both buzzing his attention away from the important task at hand. With that, I tucked in for the night as an abject failure, hoping that the following day would bring more luck.
It wasn’t until the next morning, when my wife’s brother and sister-in-law were out running errands that I realized the hunt was on. My wife’s mother was milling about the kitchen tidying up, while her father was busying himself on his computer doing “taxes” or something equally as boring. My brother-in-law’s dog started whining. My wife wanted to take the dog for a walk around the neighborhood. The time had come for me to pounce. With as casual a tone as I could muster, I said, “Nah babe, you go ahead without me.” “OK weirdo,” she replied. She clipped the leash onto the dog collar and exited out into the alley, closing the door quietly behind her.
Seeing no way whatsoever of getting my father-in-law alone—and worried my wife would sprint through her walk with the dog—I ultimately broke with tradition, albeit only slightly. I asked both my mother and father-in-law for their blessing to marry their daughter.
Thinking about it in retrospect, once you pole vault past the unavoidable awkwardness of broaching the subject in the first place—Um, so, nice day we’re having, isn’t it? Have you seen the Mets this season? And, um, I’d also like to spend the rest of my life with your daughter so can I marry her but first get your blessing? And please pass the ketchup, thanks—it’s pretty much smooth sailing from there. No matter how you slice it, however, the conversation is going to start awkwardly. What’s most important is clearing that hurdle quickly and getting right to the I-want-to-get-married-to-your-child part.
It came out clunky, awkward, and I was blushing throughout the whole ordeal. After a short soliloquy by my father-in-law on his own arranged marriage, along with a cascade of approving tears from my mother-in-law, their blessing came in the form of an awkward three-way bear hug I never saw coming. And even better than that, they kept that conversation secret until five months later when I finally got down on one knee.
For me, the tradition of asking for a father’s blessing, though irrational and kitschy (I never even really needed it to marry the woman I love) held so much importance. I had been so nervous about the exact procedure of the encounter, I hardly realized that the true beauty of the moment lies in the personal choice to do so in the first place.
My father-in-law’s marriage was arranged; he never really had a choice. I had a choice but wanted a parent’s blessing to make it real. I have no idea what my kid’s generation is going to do—and whether they’ll even want my permission at all. But what I’ve realized is that embracing or shunning tradition—or doing something in between—is something so personal that it will no doubt continue to evolve over the ages. In the meantime, whether you seek that blessing or not, know that many-a-man has sweat bullets leading up to that pivotal conversation, but nearly every one has ended up alive, with that blessing in hand.
Nearly.
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Writer Eric is a U.S. Air Force veteran and lover of all things history. He enjoys sushi, superhero movies, and the thrill of a good taco truck. When he’s not writing, he’s gallivanting around the world hoping to discover something profound and new amongst all the clutter.
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Cover photo by Benita Elizabeth Vivin on Unsplash
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